Derailed
by CrossroadsKing
Summary: Castiel has to do one thing he's always known how to do well; run away from his problems. That is, until he meets an unlikely stranger on the train to nowhere.
1. On My Way

The train's heavy wheels clacked on the rails with fast intentions to get to the next station on time. Windows foggy with condensation, the inside of the cart was maybe 5 degrees warmer than outside, making almost no difference to the man who sat in the window seat. He had an ocean blue scarf around his neck, burying his stubbled chin, up to his bottom lip. His hands were closed and tucked under his arms, trying to gather up some warmth. By his side was an empty seat, occupied by his backpack. Eyes closing, he had no desire to look outside. It was dark and he still had a long way to go on this train. The train had left from Kansas and is traveling only god knows where now. It's been a long time since he's rested his eyes; anxiety always got the best of him.

Coming to a slow stop, the groans and hisses escaped the train as very little passengers entered. There were some hardy laughs exchanged between the ticket puncher and a certain passenger. The man's striking blue eyes flickered open to see what all the commotion was at this late hour. All he could hear now was heavy footsteps coming onto the cart that he rested in. Quickly, he took his bag off of the seat and hugged it close, sliding down the seat anxiously, trying to avoid any confrontation. To avoid even more contact, he closed his eyes, pretending he was asleep.

The man's heart almost stopped when he heard the person sitting across from him, worrying for a moment that they were actually going to sit next to him. But once that whole scenario was over with, he opened his eyes back up slowly, staring into the glare of the glass, noticing that sitting in the aisle set, was a casually dressed man. A warm looking leather jacket, zipped up snuggly on him, he held a flip phone up to his ear, mumbling quietly enough so that no one beyond the other seats could make sense of what he was saying. His hands looked like they've been beaten up over the years, like maybe he did some construction work without proper protection. Also, under his nails was a thin layer of dirt, but it seemed to be a part of him. It went well with the whole leather jacket look, especially with the stubble and well kept short, styled up hair he managed to pull off.

Saying his goodbyes on the phone, he flipped it closed and put it in the breast pocket of his jacket. He seemed to come on the train without any luggage, unlike the anxiety ridden man. At least he was prepared to travel across state boarders. The blue eyed man slowly looked over onto his own lap, and then he gave a quick side glance, nervous he'd catch eyes with the stranger. But within that millisecond of evaluating what he was doing, he was still fiddling around with his phone, probably texting. Taking advantage of the man's unawareness, he slowly looked back, getting a better look at his profile from afar. The man's hair seemed to be somewhat a mix between blonde and ginger, it was hard to make out in this light, but it sure was kept nicely. Mr. Anxiety always had his short, dark brown, wavy hair let loose and do what it wants. This man looked like the total opposite, he seemed to be really clean cut and old fashioned. Where as the admirer was generally messy looking, like he gave up on life and just threw on some stupid combination of clothing. Today he was alright, he wearing a navy blue trench coat with khakis and nice black dress shoes. Normally that'd be considered a normal outfit, but under his heavy trench coat was a red plaid shirt that was tucked in, and what held his pants up was a brown belt with a silver belt buckle.

The clean cut man looked up at him and smiled, making him respond by looking back out of the fogged window. It's not that he hated interacting with others, it was just that his people skills were "rusty". Hugging his backpack closer to his body, the tanned cheeks of his faded into red warmth, he couldn't believe he trusted himself to look at that stranger for so long. That was a thing he did, every person that intrigued him enough to the point of wanting to take in every detail of them, and write it down later. He already filled in 10 pages so far, and they're all of footnotes and sketches of unsuspecting subjects of interest; he didn't mean anything creepy of it, it's just that there's too many people in the world to remember all these beautiful details of all of them. But right now, he was too flustered from being caught to even reflect on the features he tried to remember about him. He didn't dare turn his eyes back around to evaluate his presence any further, and once he heard the man shuffling around and getting up, he froze right where he was.

"Hey, man, where are you headed?"

His voice was smooth yet rough like hard liquor, and he had a slight southern accent. Without warning, he sat down in the open seat, body language comfortable and open to this man that he hadn't even officially met yet.

"Uhm," clearing his throat, his eyes dance around his face, noticing how many laugh lines and eye wrinkles he had whenever he smiled, "I'm not entirely sure."

Unlike the whisky voice the stranger had, his voice was just hushed and rough, chapped sounding, almost like his lips. He sat awkwardly, body still turned to the window, but his head turned to the man.

Giving a small chuckle, he said, "Really? Me too. Small world huh?" he held out his hand for a handshake, "I'm Dean."

Reciprocating with the handshake, he said with a little smile curving his stiff lips, "Yeah.. I'm Castiel." Dean's hands were warm and just as strong as they looked.

Dean gave a firm shake, then he crossed his arms, staring Castiel in the eyes, "Neat name, mind if I call you Cas?" Castiel's hands were cold and soft.

Castiel always heard that his name was hard to remember, but no one ever tried to give him a nickname. Well, it was never too late to start with nickname, "I don't mind at all," he said in a hushed tone. He was honestly flattered to receive such a name, but it's been so long since he's slept, and he didn't know how to deal with people at this state of mentality. Eyes blinking slowly, he was unaware of how tired he looked, there was extra dark circles around his eyes and the whites of his eyes started to turn red, veins starting to become more visible.

Smiling out of pity, Dean said, "Sorry to interrupt your sleep, I just saw that you were literally the only other person on this cart," he paused and looked around, "It gets pretty lonely sometimes when you ride alone." His face almost lost the smile, but when he caught himself, he sang out happily, "But that's life sometimes. Gotta roll with it.. Say, can I sit here for the rest of the ride? I won't be on here for long."

Cas' body started to slowly scoot towards Dean's direction as they talked more. His awkward way of asking questions interested him.

"Yeah, just don't think about pick pocketing me. I don't have anything valuable on my person, I'll warn you now," he stifled out a dry laugh.

At that moment, he embarrassed himself beyond belief. Dean looked like a nice guy, and he just suggested that he looks like the kind of person that would steel from a sleeping dude on a train. But thank god Dean laughed with him, or he would have thought he was getting off on a very wrong foot that was also rude.

"Don't worry, that's all in the past," Dean reassured him ( not very well ) with some amusement in his voice.

Castiel was too tired to even worry about what that meant, he was just still worried about saying something that would actually make Dean want to pick pocket him while he slept. He didn't say anything, he just gave a tired smile and curled back up towards the window, holding the backpack close to him. Eyes closing, a small, "goodnight" slipped out as everything went black behind his eyelids, and the train's rhythm started lulling him to sleep.


	2. Here I Am

His eyes opened up quickly and stung from the sun staring him back in the face. Squinting, he looked down at himself, there was a warm blanket on him, but his hands shook underneath them. Castiel saw that Dean wasn't in the seat next to him, and he started to tug the blanket off of himself. He didn't know if he was shaking from the coldness in the cart or the nightmares that plagued him every time he slept. Rolling up the blanket and tossing it on the seat next to him, he shifted his backpack on top of it and stood up on the moving train, trying to stretch his legs out. Before he realized that Dean said he wasn't going to be on the train very long, he had started to look around the empty seats around him. Holding onto both his seat and the seat in front of him, he steadied himself that he wouldn't fall over as he walked out into the aisle.

Dragging his heavy, tired feet to the back of the cart, he went inside the tiny bathroom, steadying himself with the walls that seemed to nearly squish him. Castiel had to spread his legs when he was ready to use the toilet, so that they held him steady against the walls and he wasn't swaying everywhere. He even had to lean his shoulder on one of the walls to not fall over and hit his face on the back wall. Giving himself chills as his cold hands held the warmest part of his body, he gave a pained frown, feeling the warm liquid leaving his body. Really, he wasn't paying attention to where he aimed, he just stared at the advertisements hung above the toilet and thought about the overly talkative man he met last night. Resting his cheek against the cold, white wall, he heard the stubble on his cheek scratch against it, making him sigh, wishing he could get more sleep.

Tucking himself back in his pants, he zipped up and turned around and shuffled steadily over to the sink. Castiel's neck was stiff and ached every time he tried to move it. Rolling his shoulders, trying to loosen up his tightened muscles, he gave up, realizing he was only making it worse, and he proceeded to washed his hands. The soap that oozed in his hands from the dispenser smelled like warm ginger, and it grew stronger as he lathered it up and washed it away with hot water. The water seemed to melt the cold, thick layer of ice that grew stealthily on his hands. He actually had to look down to make sure he wasn't getting frostbite, the tap was so deliciously scorching. It sent a surge of chills up his arms and down his back, letting him feel the hairs stand up on end.

Shaking off his hands into the sink and turning the knobs, he soon figured out that there wasn't any paper towels left in the black dispenser. Resorting into wiping them on his pants, feeling how crisply raw the stitching was against his delicate hands, made him realized how much he already missed the warm water. Honestly, he wished he could take a shower or something right now. Instead of dwelling on the beautifully haunting thought of soaking his slowly freezing body in a nice hot spring, he tucked his hands under his trench coat and in his armpits, letting him store at least some of the lingering heat from the faucet after he opened the door. The train rocked him from side to side as he walked down the aisle and to his seat, plopping down with all the strength he had left in him. A huff was forced out of him, making him groan. At least the sun outside that shone on the inside partially warmed his cheeks.

Squinting and resting his head back on the seat, he stared out at the fast passing trees. It was a beautiful day out, the sun had that harsh beginning in the morning, that orange, blinding shine. Castiel didn't have a watch, but he assumed it was around 7am. Arms still crossed, he felt like he could relax and fall back asleep, but knowing that nightmares awaited him in the very back corner of his mind. Remembering the one that he had last night made his hands shake nervously, scared that maybe he'll never fall asleep peacefully again. Heart pounding, Castiel thought that maybe the train was going as fast as his pulse. A little whimper escaped his lips as he closed his eyes tight, trying to calm himself down. From his right, he heard footsteps. Figuring it was the ticket puncher doing his rounds again, he just held his lips tight in a line.

"Good morning, Cas," a familiar voice rung through his ears.

Heart skipping a beat, he turned to Dean and saw that he was holding two coffee cups.

"It's really cold out today, so I got us some coffee," sitting back down next to Castiel, Dean held out a cup for the other passenger, "I don't know how you like yours, so I stuffed some milk and sugar packets in my pocket."

Dean's smile was just as warm as the first time they met, almost as warm

Castiel rustled his hands out of his armpit and grabbed the hot coffee, holding it to his chest closely and subconsciously. Tired eyes opened wide, they stared at the man right in front of them. Trying to process all that was going on, he was lost by the sour apple green eyes that stared back.

"Oh," he managed to squeak out, "thank you, but doesn't this cost money to get?"

Raising his eyebrows up while taking a sip, he managed a "_mhm_" against the flimsy plastic lid.

Castiel stared down at the cup and said after he cleared his groggy throat, "I can't take this. I don't have the money to pay you back."

Parting his rosy red lips from the black top of the cup, Dean leaned over to Cas' ear and whispered.

"Hm.. don't tell anyone, but I didn't pay for these."

Cas smelled the warm brew of coffee roll off of Dean's breath and into his nose, which made him feel like that it wasn't such a bad thing, what Dean had done. But in all honestly, Castiel thought that Dean's breath would smell like some type of beer, especially the way his voice sounded. He heard every part his lips made and every tiny pat his tongue made on the roof of his mouth, making a weird trickle of goose bumps appearing up his neck. It was just that Dean's breath, unlike his own, was warm and inviting. How this man kept his body temperature at the peek of normal, he didn't know. But he enjoyed every bit of warmth that came over his body, that he really didn't care.

"Well, I'd lie if I said I was surprised," Castiel said uneasily, awkwardly, and with a small smile, "but thank you. You must always do this to all the lovely ladies that swoon over you and your criminal background."

"Oh, yeah," Dean exaggerated, "they sure do. I get _all_ the women."

They were face to face, shoulder to shoulder. Cas couldn't resist the fact that he was practically a walking heater. He didn't necessarily like this man's illegal habit, in fact, he didn't even know anything about this man, except for that he kept him warm. So that was more than a reason to keep sticking around him, not to mention he got him a warm coffee. Although he doesn't like coffee, he held onto it so that it was more than enough to hold his hands back from shoving them up Dean's shirt.

"So, you have a girl back home? Or, wherever?" Dean asked curiously.

Castiel's heart started to pound again, he felt every inch of him pulse out of anxiety. Swallowing hard, he lift the coffee up to his pink, stiff lips, letting the steaming hot coffee burn his tongue, making him make a hissing sound and his face twisted into pain. Cursing at himself, he tried to give a smile at Dean, like he meant to do that and that's how he liked his coffee; 360 degrees Fahrenheit. Licking his lips, he let out a breath, trying to air out his burns, and shook his head to Dean's question. He seemed to turn away at that point, giving a chuckle.

"Neither do I," the rough looking man said, "such a shame women don't see the beauty in us, huh?"

Castiel's eyes wandered away and he stared back out the window, "Yeah.."


End file.
